She saw it coming at her from the corner of her eye. She could only sit in her already wet and thoroughly uncomfortable seat as she watched the wall of water gather speed and grow in size. Even though she so desperately wanted to, she couldn't escape from it. She had to take it like the woman she was. Or else she'd get yelled at for squirming around and sitting up.

The boat needs to remain streamline and balanced and you sitting up won't help that, the coach would say. She could hear it in her head, fresh. She had heard it the day before.

Instead she turned her face slightly from the splash of water that crashed over the gunnel of the boat. It splattered on her face anyway and sloshed around her seat, her coat skirt (ass flap her "kids" called it) soaking the water up more than repelling it by that time. Her grip around the steering tightened in agitation and her mouth tugged down at the corner.

The piece ended, she called for them to way nuf, and the boat glided a bit before coming to a halt.

Her hand moved to take in the depth of the water she was sitting in – probably a good inch and a half. She couldn't really blame bow seat – the waves were rough and the winds were high. That fact didn't stop her from turn her head slightly and calling back behind her, "bow seat, row." She'd just use the excuse that she needed to find her point.

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